I Can't Be Who You Are
by Corinne Jane
Summary: Two agents sat at a bar. One was NCIS the other was CIA.  The question of the day, why did Trent hate Jerek so much?  Friendship/comfort.


**Author's Note. I do not own any of this. This is set after Broken Bird. Warnings-graphic torture.**

He cradled his vodka in his hand, smirking into his cup, he raised his eyes to the television to catch a glimpse of a pretty young brunnette reporter with hazel eyes and sharp features end her segment on the arrest of CIA Interrogator Marcin Jerek. As much as he hated being benched he was glad that he was around to see this happen, to be apart of it, to be the reason for it. For years he had waited for his old Professor to fall from grace, and to have the privilege of seeing such a dream fulfilled lifted his spirits more than any mission could have. He raised his glass, seeing the bar tender looking at him strangely, he toasted, "Good for you Gibbs, you got the bastard."

"I always do Trent." Gibbs said approaching from behind and sitting on the bar stool next to him, ordering a vodka tonic, taking a sideway glance at Kort he raised an eyebrow.

"Trace my cell did you?" Kort said smoothly not taking his eyes off the television, he heard Gibbs sigh in laughter.

"Nah, had McGee do that for me." Gibbs answered shortly silence falling between the two men once more, both of them pretending to follow the news until it came full circle, Gibbs placing his glass down slowly, "You two knew each other. I didn't expect you to give him up so easily."

He snorted and shook his head, "You don't know me very well Gibbs. I see where DiNozzo gets it from." Seeing Gibbs peering at him he continues, "You all see me in the parameters of a CIA Agent. A ruthless, killing machine. Not a human being. It's almost flattering at times."

"Well it gets confusing when we have bad guys working on the side of good. I can hardly keep you all apart. I try my best to avoid you." Gibbs said quietly.

"Don't forget the bad guys who are pretending to work on the good side so they can get what they need." Kort smirked and shook his head, "Some of us are worse than others. They lack morals."

"I wasn't aware the CIA had morals." Gibbs mused before continuing, "Jerek?"

Nodding, he breathed in deeply, saying a deep but quiet voice "I've been waiting for this for a long time Gibbs. A very long time." taking a sip of his vodka he tried to ignore the piercing look Gibbs was sending his way. His mind already taking him back twenty years.

"You said he was your least favorite professor. He taught what, interrogation techniques?" Gibbs said quietly, peering into his own glass, knowing he was crossing into personal territory with this man. He never thought he'd be sitting having a drink with Trent Kort about his days in college, when he couldn't even hold this type of conversation with his own team. For some reason Kort didn't irk him as much as others did, not to say his team annoyed him or were immature but after spending nearly all day with them he couldn't take their presence any longer then needed.

"Indeed. His favorite part was the torturing techniques." Gibbs watched as Kort seemed to daze out, flying back twenty years, his face scrunching up as memories flooded him, "Never quite saw the point of hurting someone when words will do. But Jerek never had the patience, or the intelligence, to wait for the right words to come, for opportunity to knock." Shaking his head, he looked down.

"You're telling me you've never tortured anyone Kort?" Gibbs said amused.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. I'd like to get my hands on Jerek but it'd do no good." Kort said coldly, feeling his stomach drop to his shoes, he knew where this conversation was going.

"I always thought you'd agree with everything the agency okay'd. Seeing as how you think it's okay to kill whoever you damn well like." Gibbs said in a snide tone, using a spoon to absent-mindedly stir his drink.

"Yes well, the Agency has very strange Ethics, one of them being that you should never inflict pain on someone else without knowing what it feels like. Basically you shouldn't punch someone unless you've been punched. In order to understand the pain, you must feel it yourself, therefore you know how to torture someone properly. How to build it up, how to hit a person, to hurt a person to get them to reveal anything you want. And yet we are ordered to kill and are still alive ourselves." Kort said lifelessly, still staring into space, as if he wasn't really there.

"You saying the Agency tortured their trainees as a teaching tool?" Gibbs said looking directly at Trent who turned his head to meet his eyes.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. After all we have to be able to maintain composure in the most arduous situations." He laughed coldly.

"That would explain why you hate Jerek but not why you don't believe in torture. Your classmates seem to have no problem with it." Gibbs pointed out.

Kort laughed, "Nosy one I see. Well Gibbs, that's because Marcin Jerek took a _special_ interest in me." his face contorted, gripping the glass tightly, Gibbs watched the usually stoic man begin to show signs of his emotions, albeit rage and fear, it unnerved him more than Kort's usual lack of humanity.

"I have all night Trent. Tell me." Gibbs spoke softly, Trent stared at him and just smirked. "Be more than glad to give you a bedtime story Gibbs."

**-FLASHBACK-**

He stared at the projector lazily, not really soaking any of the information in, not seeing the point of it when he found physical torture gruesome and disgusting. Looking out at the sunny courtyard and the track he'd later be running on, preparing for the area championship, he didn't hear his Professor calling his name until he was suddenly slapped in the face hard enough to sting and leave a manly handprint on his face. Glaring up at his most hated Professor he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"What I was saying Mister Kort, had you been paying attention to me, was that you all are going to be participating in the torture, I will be training you to maintain composure in the most arduous situations, a major part of you becoming a CIA Agent. Has that become boring to you?" Jerek questioned sternly.

"Not at all Professor." he answered, what he really wanted to say was fuck off, but he had learned the hard way to not speak to this professor that way. As tough as he wanted to seem he couldn't deny the fear this man put into him. Of course it didn't help that the professor started off every lessons with tapes from various interrogations-if that's what you can call them anyways-from his youth, and then a still frame of the finished product, the broken body and soul of the man, woman, or even child sitting in a heap in front of the crazed Professor as he stood behind beaming in pride and satisfaction, a mild look of longing and jealousy in his eyes. It was sick, all he knew was that at seventeen years old he was basically still considered a kid by every adult on earth, and didn't want to have scars the ladies would find repulsing.

"Then you won't have a problem going first." Jerek said arrogantly, his eyes brightening as he looked down at his most difficult student-there was always one in every year, and he always broke them within a week. Kort would be no different, he'd enjoy feeling his blood flow through his fingers. He smirked as he saw the young man pale, he could easily read the fear in the boys eyes. This is exactly why this program existed, if he could read him this easily then his enemies most certainly would rip him to pieces. Honestly the boy was lucky he had a professor who enjoyed watching out for him so much, especially being as difficult as he was. He would do well to learn from his old professor.

"No. Of course not." He answered defiantly, mentally preparing himself for the worse, not exactly knowing what was going to happen, as he wasn't paying attention, but it couldn't be that bad, after all this was a college, either way he wasn't backing down, if he did he knew it would only be worse when it was his turn.

"Good. Then get up." Jerek ordered coldly, he did as he was told, noticing for the first time that all eyes were trained on him, some of their faces pale, and watching him with very real concern, he ignored all of them, instead turning his attention back to his nemesis, as Jerek's assistant cuffed him and pulled him away from the class, and down a corridor, going past Jerek's quarters and into a deeper part of the university, a place he never even knew existed, he looked around him at the dark, cramped space that looked like it had been part of an old chapel, it's cobblestone walls covered with mold, the floor damp and muddy, the air humid and smelling like human waste. There wasn't a single window, just a sewer cap ontop of which lay a wall. Chains hung off the walls, a long chair sat in the middle of the room, he recognized it. It was the same one used in Jerek's 'Interrogations', sure enough the chair was covered in blood stains, he looked back at Jerek's assistant, demanding to be set free only to see the man's grinning face as he shoved him into the little cell and locking the door afterwards.

"They never quite catch up until it's too late. But don't worry, Marcin works wonders on students like you, in fact he's made students more difficult then you into outstanding agents. They always thank him later on. You'll be the same, just wait and see." The assistant, Mallory was his name, smiled comfortingly at him before leaving.

He looked around his cell, finding it the same as before he paced in circles, staring at the chair as if it would come alive and bite him, he leaned against the wall, sliding down it he stared at the door, waiting for Jerek to come in and explain what was going on. He had no right locking him up, this was against the rules he was sure and when he got out of here he'd make sure Jerek was canned. Until then he resigned himself to waiting for his great escape.

...

It had been three days and no one had come. The first day he spent waiting, unable to sleep as he waited for his professor to come and teach him a lesson, but no one showed, nervous and slightly frightened he remained quiet, not willing to bring attention to himself, not even to ask for a can to piss and shit in, instead he chose the corner farthest away from where he was to use as a toilet, his stomach had growled in hunger, demanding food, but none came. He hadn't seen a peep of light since he was put in here, for all he knew the world could have ended and he was drifting in a black hole, devoid of any light or life.

By the second day he knew Jerek was making him wait on purpose, it was one of his many techniques he often boasted about, it only took a few hours for him to nearly lose it, he began pacing, trying to entertain himself as he soon grew bored and so hungry it hurt, his stomach cramping. But no matter what he tried his mind always came full circle to the pain he was in and the fear that was gnawing away at his heart and sanity. He put his head to the door that night just to hear something, anything. The sound of a voice or even of life in any form would be a blessing but there was not even a bird chirping or a late student's footsteps to be heard. Putting his head in his hands he made himself sleep before he let the tears of frustration get to him.

This was the third day. With no food, no water, no shower, toilet, change of clothes, light, or sound, or touch. No human contact, no animal contact. No fresh air, just the smell of his own feces making him sick to his stomach. He was miserable. He felt grimey, he was so cold his lips were chapped and he shook uncontrollably, his stomach seemed to be eating his other organs alive or at least it felt like it was, his eyes hurt, and he was beginning to feel dizzy, and overly tired. Headaches kept making him double over, he had no energy to move. He desperately waited near the door, prepared to beg as soon as the door opened, knowing it would because it had been three days with no water. If he didn't get water today he'd be dead by tomorrow, however the thought didn't do anything to comfort him. Not when his whole body was sore, and he was near his breaking point.

He hated himself for feeling so weak, it frustrated him that Jerek was getting to him so easily, that he was breaking so quickly, when nothing had really been done to him. Maybe there was a lesson in all of this and not just the Professor's perverse pleasure at seeing him suffer. At seeing everybody suffer. He just wanted a shower and some food, basic human rights, but Jerek was right, if he was ever captured as an Agent this would be the treatment he'd be getting, so better get accustomed to it and acquainted to his new living standards. He tried getting up only to see stars and then everything went black.

He woke up three hours later, sprawled on the floor face first, his nose broken and bleeding, he groaned and sat up, hearing his muscles scream in protest and his back crack he looked at the door, cursing as he noticed a tiny styrofoam cup filled to the brim with water, he had missed his chance. Sighing he crawled over to the cup and drank from it like a dog at first, not wanting to spill a drop of it, knowing it would be the last he would get for a while, and he was so thirsty that if he had to kill to get a drop of water he would. His throat burned and ached, his muscles twitched and refused to work, all because of the lack of water. He knew what it could do to him, how you could actually get permanent damage to your organs from being reptitively denied water. He knew he should save some of the water for later but he couldn't. His mind said no but his body was needy and greedy and he ended up drinking the entire heavenly ice-cold water. Using his tongue to lick off any remaining drops, then ripping the cup into strips.

He was so thirsty he took those strips and sucked on them hoping to get some left behind water out of them, with the water gone from the strips he miserably began eating them, one by one. He made believe they were pizza and buffalo wings, Mother's Scalloped Potatoes, anything to make them go down. He stared at his hands, waiting for it all to end, to be a bad joke, but it never happened. No matter how many times he closed his eyes they always opened to the same room.

It was during the fourth day that he learned to just make a game in his head, to make a different world and live there, most of the days he spent sleeping anyways, his body going from sick to painfully sick. He had been throwing up that morning, for hours, until nothing but acid came up and soon he was dry heaving on his side, curled up in a ball, his muscles paining him, making it feel like every time he heaved he was literally ripping them to shreds. Tears pricked his eyes, the pain was immense, he never thought it could be this painful, he dugs into the dirt, his nails gone, he had literally ate them for breakfast that morning.

Finally his body, so exhausted with no energy in it from food, passed out, until he woke up, staring miserably at the door. It went on like this for three weeks, until Jerek had to feed him, giving him his usual cup of water every three days. The pain he was in after twenty-one days in this hell was indescribable, frankly he wished they would forget to give him water, so he would pass out and never wake up. He already wanted to give up his dream of being a CIA agent, what good was he anyways if he couldn't withstand being caged up for nearly a month? They'd be better off without him, and at the moment he'd be better off dead then being put through this torture, given only enough to barely survive.

He was determined to stay awake today, to face the man that was causing him to suffer so. His muscles wouldn't obey him anymore, they kept twitching and jumping, causing his arms and legs to flail and jump. But he wouldn't cry, that would be more humiliating then anything he'd been put through so far. Instead he unsteadily began to paint a picture in the mud with his fingers as he waited, drawing his Jerek dead and mutilated. It was a few hours later that he heard the telltale signs of feet on the floor, his senses so sharp now that he could hear a fly a mile away, he managed to sit up, his mouth salivating, praying that they brought dinner. The door opened sending blinding sunlight into the room, covering his eyes, crying out as the sun burned his retina's, his first sighting of light in three weeks he blinked back the tears, he managed to pull himself together enough to smell the food on the plate, the door opened only an inch, Mallory's voice floating in.

"He'll be visiting tomorrow my dear boy. You are doing well. Much better then Either of us bargained you would." And with that the door was shut and the assistant's footsteps were fading. He stared at the plate that had been placed in front of him, he thought he'd be given some skimpy servings of Jerek's own left overs, but instead the plate was heaping with food. If you could call it that. A foul smell was coming from the plate, and as he dugs his dirty, muddy hands into the meal he brought it up to his face, nearly gagging as he saw dead bugs and animal livers, and hearts. He clutched his head, not daring to touch the food in case he destroyed it he curled into himself, feeling hopelessness descend upon him swiftly, he began to keen quietly, before snapping up.

"YOU BASTARD. YOU MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD. I HATE YOU, YOU COLD-HEARTED PIECE OF SHIT. I JUST WANT SOME FOOD, RIGHT FUCKING NOW. LET ME OUT. LET ME OUT YOU SLIMY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING ASS-KISSING SON OF A BITCH. PLEASE. I'M SO HUNGRY, PLEASE, I'VE LEARNED MY LESSON. Please, need some real food. Oh god please let me out of here. please..." He screamed feeling blood trickle down his throat as it tore. He felt his throat closing off as a lump formed there, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in his hands, telling himself to keep it together, that losing it wouldn't get him anywhere's. Trying to calm himself, trying not to fall into despair, he longed for freedom, so much it hurt, that's all he had anymore was this pain, emotional and physical. He couldn't take it any longer, he wanted to eat real food, to piss in a toilet, to lay in a bed, to see another human being.

He looked down at the plate of animal innards and broke down, tears falling, he longed for his Mother. She was right, seventeen was too young to be at college. He had so wanted to make her proud, and instead he was rotting away in a cell with animal innards as his gourmet meal. He laughed insanely through his tears, here he was training to be a bad-ass CIA Agent and he was crying for his Mother, he'd never make it. He was going to die here, he knew it. He wouldn't even make it to tomorrow. He would make sure of that. Standing up he began stripping naked, tearing his pants in two at the crotch, tying them together into a noose he began looking for a place to put himself out of his own misery. He paced back and forth unable to find a hole, or even a groove to put the rope in, kicking the chair in frustration, he watched it for a moment before lighting up.

That was his ticket out of here. He tied the end of his noose to the back of the chair, positions it against the doorknob so it wouldn't move he wrapped the noose around his throat, closing his eyes he breathed in deeply, tears falling fast, fear consuming him. "Dear God please help me. Please help me. Please Help me. Please." With that he let himself drop feeling his own clothes tightening around his neck, cutting off his oxygen supply, he could feel his body becoming numb, his head filling with cotton, but he didn't struggle, he wanted this, even as he gurgled and his eyes dimmed, his vision fading, he could faintly hear footsteps running across the ceiling, and towards the door. He smirked, they'd be too late. He could hear them screaming at him from very far away, could feel the door rattling, and that was the last thing he remembered.

Until he woke up several days later on the floor of the same exact cell he tried killing himself in, Jerek sitting in the blood-stained chair, smiling, the plate of animal guts in his lap. "You didn't eat your dinner Trent, you can't grow big and strong if you don't eat your food." He mocked, standing up, yanking him up as well, his legs groaning in protest as he was thrown into the chair, Jerek tying him down tight, grunting in discomfort he glared up at his captor, eyeing the plate of food in the man's hand, his stomach growled loudly in the silence, causing him to flush in humiliation as Marcin laughed.

"You've made me so proud these last few weeks my dear boy. Usually it takes a week to break kids years older then you, you've lasted a whole month. I am impressed. Yet, you're test isn't over just yet. There's still the physical left to go." Marcin chuckled, "But first you must eat your meal." He watched as Jerek grabbed a cow tongue from the pile and, glaring at the tongue he never saw the punch coming until he was doubled over and his mouth open trying to breath, he could taste the tongue as it was shoved into his mouth. Gagging he tried spitting it out but Jerek held his mouth shut.

"Eat it Trent, or things will get much worse for you." Looking up at the old man, he believed him, he had that crazy glint in his eye, he only got that when he was torturing someone and enjoying it immensely, or when he was thinking of all the awful things he could do to someone, from pouring Agent Orange on them to cutting off their nipples. God only knows what he would to him if he refused to eat the cow tongue, the man was crazier than fucking Hitler. He bit into it feeling the cows saliva burst into his mouth, causing him to gag and nearly throw up he put his head down as far as it would go, tears in his eyes, his face contorted as he swallowed the tongue, only to continue gagging as if he was going to throw it up. "Good boy Trent. Good boy. Next...hmmm, the liver." Marcin fed him the liver, humiliation in every line of his body, slouching in defeat he didn't take his eyes off the floor, until the plate was clear, only then did he muster the courage to look the man in the eyes, and spit out, "I hate you. And one day I will be your downfall you miserable old man." His eyes were cold as he said this, his voice was ice, Jerek wisely remained quiet, though Kort didn't fail to pick up the triumphant gleam in his Professor's eyes.

"Be that as it may Trent, you are at my mercy now, and you will learn to be respectful or suffer the consequences. I dare say I have suffered enough of your delinquent tongue." Jerek said coolly as he got up and circled the chair. Watching the man out of the corner of his eyes he wondered what would come next, his stomach churning from his disgusting breakfast, hoping he'd be able to puke all over the old man, he flinched as he felt himself being dragged upwards and chained to the ceiling, his toes barely skimming the floor, he almost cried out in pain as his entire body weight was put on his arms. Gritting his teeth, his face already turning red with the effort, his arms burning as if they were on fire, panting he tried not to feel the ripping agony, only to realize he was stark naked. Jerek had taken his clothing.

Glaring up at the old man, he tried to breath so it wouldn't hurt, concentrating on trying to even out his weight he never had a chance to prepare himself for the blows as Marcin began to mercilessly beat him, not holding back, Kort cried out as he broke his nose and jaw, blood pouring out of him as Jerek kept up his assualt, Kort's thin, skeletal body taking the beating, his breathing raspy and uneven, he saw the next punch but could do nothing to dodge it, hitting him in the eye his head jerked back with the blow, causing his neck to explode in pain, and his eye to sear in agony, his eyes socket had been shattered. He could feel himself shake, the pain sharp and intense, he could no longer hold back his screams, feeling himself bathing in his own blood, the only sound that of Jerek's heavy breathing and the snapping of his bones and the sound of flesh upon flesh. Wheezing as he hit him in the stomach, he tried curling up, moaning in agony, not willing to beg, he just sagged in his chains.

He laughed in Kort's face as he showed him a pair of brass knuckles and began beating his chest, he screamed as he felt his ribs snap, screaming as one ripped right into his lungs, his breathing becoming shorter, as he coughed up blood, his broken eye, hooded and swollen, his nose and jaw at weird angles, ribs protruding as he hit him once more in the stomach, lunch finally coming back up all over himself, cringing in humiliation. he groaned, and looked at Jerek, his eyes pleading for him to stop, but it was in vain, turning back around Jerek eyed a knife lovingly and a whip lovingly, setting the knife aside he grabbed the whip and went behind Kort. Raising it up high he brought the thin torture tool down onto his back the nails in the tip digging themselves into his back, he cried out in sheer pain, feeling like white-hot knifes were slicing into him, a thin trail of blood making its way down his back, Marcin already raising the whip for another blow, jerking in his chains, he cringes and grunts and hisses with pain with every crack of the whip, feeling tears course down his face as the whip covers his ass and his legs.

Sobbing he tried to stop crying as the whipping stopped, his lung causing him excruciating pain, as Jerek fingered the knife lovingly, walking up to Kort he smirked and grabbed the chained man's cock. His eyes flew open, catching his professor's eyes, he looked into them pleadingly, brokenly saying in a pathetic voice, "Please...don't. Please Professor, don't. I'm sorry. I learned my lesson. Please. I'll do whatever you want." But it was like Jerek didn't hear him, instead the man started carving up his dick, Trent threw his head back and screaming, jerking and squirming in his chains, trying to get away to no avail, it felt like eternity but could only have been ten minutes before Jerek finished making cuts and slicing his dick.

Sobbing Trent hung from the rafters as Jerek took out a stun gun, he didn't bother to look up not wanting to see what was being done to him he just shook and shrieked with pain when he pulled the trigger, jolts of fierce burning electricity racing through his blood. "I'll give you what you want, Please STOP. I'll do anything, ANYTHING!" Kort screamed desperately, "Please have mercy professor, please. I can't be who you are." Marcin smiled and patted Kort's cheek.

"Exactly." Jerek whispered.

**-Present-**

"He left me hanging there, bleeding. He only came back once more, to burn me with a branding iron. I got his name branded on my ass, like I'm some fucking cow. Infection set in. I was only let down when my fever was so high I actually died and had to be rescucitated. I didn't wake up for three weeks, and when I did I was told that Jerek hadn't abused any of the other students like that. He had kept them in the depravation room for only a week. The cell hadn't been used in ages. Sometime when I was so sick he took me down from the rafter and shoved my face in my own feces, and gave me another beating." He breathed deeply, hands shaking as he recalled those months he spent in hell, closing his eyes he could feel Gibbs staring at him.

"And you still continued to become a CIA Agent after that." Gibbs said dryly, as he placed a full bottle of Vodka in front of him.

"I did tell him I was going to be the down fall of him. Couldn't do that flipping burgers at McDonald's could I?" He answered shortly. Gibbs snorted.

"Well at least you are a man of your word Kort." Gibbs said softly.

"I don't dare disappoint." He replied soberly looking down into his drink, hating himself for falling right into Jerek's hand, "Jerek, he really did teach me though. I did become a great agent."

Before he could even look up at Gibbs he had been head-slapped hard across the back of his skull as if he was one of Gibbs' agents, glaring at the old man who just glared right back he snorted.

"Not because of him though Kort. You pulled through that yourself. You made yourself into this. And you are a great agent. Don't let Jerek take that from you as well. He doesn't deserve the credit." Gibbs said softly. "You know where I am at if you need me." And with that he was left to his own devices.


End file.
